Ask if you can kiss her

You try to put yourself into that calm mental state, that state of complete certainty about your actions; but now that you're here, your beautiful sister sitting on the bed in front of you with her hand on your knee, you find it impossible to concentrate. You feel light-headed and dizzy, and your cock is tingling and beginning to thicken.

Vicky is watching you intently, a worried furrow beginning to crease her brow. It's now or never, you think. Now that you've made such a big deal about talking to her, you have **** but to carry through with it. Your long silence has signalled to her just how serious you think this is, so you can't just blow this one off, make up some silly and stupid excuse, because now she won't buy it. Short of telling her that you're gay or you're dying, nothing could be as serious for her as telling her that you're sexually attracted to her.

What's the worst that could happen, though? you wonder. That she'll think that you're some kind of sick pervert? People already treat you like one, even though you aren't. Then again, maybe she'll tell mom and dad; then you could be out on your ass with no place to go. As the long agonizing seconds of your indecision slip by, the look on her face becoms more and more doubtful and worried. She withdraws her hand and leans back, giving you a serious look as she takes another drag off her cigarette.

"What's up, John? You're really starting to weird me out."

You look her in the eye, about to speak, but the pale green of her eyes has turned hard, like verdigris. You look away, swallowing hard. Your eye catches something of interest, and your mind struggles for a second, trying to identify what you're seeing.

Under her pillow you can see the corner of her sketchbook. You wonder absently for a minute why she would put her sketchbook under her pillow. Then it clicks in: she's hiding it. That's what she was doing before you came in, drawing in her sketchbook. But why would she hide it? She never hides her drawings because they're genuinely good and she knows it. She has them tacked up all over the room. But then what could she be drawing that she would want to hide? Your sick apprehension has suddenly been replaced by a powerful curiosity.

"It's nothing," you say, rather weakly.

Vicky rolls her eyes and grunts. "You're either the biggest fucking loser or the most annoying brother on the planet. Tell me you did not just get me all worried about you for nothing." She's suddenly very annoyed, but the worry hasn't left her face.

"Look, I just don't think I can tell you afterall, ok?" you say, sounding more than a little pathetic in your own ears.

"Whatever," she says, butting out her cigarette. "If you're not going to tell me what's going on, then just get the fuck out, ok?"

"I will," you say, sounding a little peevish yourself, "If you show me what you're drawing."

"What do you mean?" she asks, a tremor suddenly shaking her voice. Instinctively she starts looking over her shoulder toward the pillow where she has her sketchbook hidden and then stops herself.

Seeing your opportunity, you lung forward and grab the corner of her sketchbook. She twists and grabs the edges of the book, just as you pull it out from under the pillow.

"Hey!" she cries, trying to cover it with her torso. You're not sure what you saw, but she really doesn't want you to see it.

"C'mon, let me see it!" you say, pulling hard on the book. She's lying on top of it now, and you lie down on top of her, trying to pull it out from under her. You wrestle for a second and instinctively press your swollen member against her buttocks. You pull your hips back, hoping she didn't notice how hard she's made you.

"Come on, what's so bad about it?" you say, trying to cover up your arousal with words.

"Let me go, asshole!" she grunts, shrugging you off. Holding the book against her chest, she wiggles out from under you and sits with her back against the dresser, which is pushed up against the end of the bed. She has her arms crossed over the book and is hugging it tight. Her face is red with anger and embarrassment.

"What's so bad about it?" you repeat. "Are you drawing dirty pictures? You know I'm going to find out sooner or later, so why don't you just show me?"

"Why don't you go fuck yourself?" she says, kicking you.

"Look, I know you're drawing something you're not supposed to be--."

"Maybe I'm just self-conscious. It's not done yet," she says, interrupting.

You roll your eyes. "Whatever," you say. "I know it's a dirty picture. If you don't show me now I'll just come back later when you're gone and search your room."

"You can't do that!" she says, outraged. "This is MY room! If I find out you've been snooping around in here, I'll kill you."

"Then maybe I'll get mom to snoop around. I'll tell her that you have **** hidden in here. She'll tear the place apart!"

"You're a real bastard, you know that?" she says, kicking you again.

"Look, I'll make a deal with you, ok?"

She turns away, refusing to look you in the eye.

"If you show me your picture, I'll tell you what I came in here for. I guarantee it will be more embarrassing than anything you have there."

"Fuck off," she says, not looking at you.

"Mom!" you yell at the top of your lungs.

Vicky drops the book and lunges at you, pushing you down on the bed. "Shut up, you bastard!" she curses, trying to keep her voice down. You grab her wrists and pretend to try to push her off you, but you are enjoying the weight of her body pressing down against you. Her breasts, full and heavy, are pressed against your chest.

"Mom!" you yell again, determined to get your way.

Vicky clamps her hand over your mouth, her face livid. "If you yell one more time I'll cut your balls off," she threatens.

"Is everything ok in there?" It's your mom's voice. She's standing outside the door, but hasn't opened it yet.

"Everything's fine, mom," Vicky yells back. "John's just being a brat. Ignore him."

You try to open your mouth again, but Vicky clamps down with both hands. She's stradling you, and the warmth and weight of her body is driving you crazy. "Ok. Listen. I'll show you my drawing, but you have to promise not to tell anyone, and you have to promise to tell me why you came in here. Deal?"

Having secured your victory, you nod. Vicky can feel you smiling under her hands and releases you in disgust.

"Are you sure everything's ok in there?" your mom repeats, hesitating.

"Everything's fine, mom," you yell back. "I'm just being a shit-disturber."

You can practically hear your mom think: my children are fucking retarded. "Dinner's almost ready," she says. You can hear her footsteps moving away from the door.

Vicky gets up off of you and straightens her shirt, which had worked its way up to the underside of her breasts. She picks up her sketchbook and looks at the drawing, sighing. "Remember," she says, "you promised: no one else is ever going to find out about this, ok?"

"Ok," you say, sitting up. "But you have to promise never to tell anyone what I'm about to tell you, too, ok?"

"Ok. Fine." She waves her hand, dismissing the formalities. Her other hand still has a tight hold on the sketchbook.

"Well?" you ask, holding out your hand.

"Ok, just remember that I won't judge you if you don't judge me. Got it?"

You nod your head, wiggling your outstretched fingers with a 'just give me the damn book' gesture.

As she hands over the book, she shuts her eyes and tilts back her head, trying to avoid seeing your reaction.

You turn the book around, trying to figure out which side is the top. It's a picture of two women, both naked. A long-haired woman is reclining with her head tilted back, full breasts hanging majestically to the side. Her legs are spread. The second woman is on her knees, her pert tush raised in the air, and has her head between the first woman's legs, performing cunnilingus. The second woman is bald and has a dragon tattoo on her arm. It's obviously supposed to be Vicky. The first woman looks like Alice, Vicky's best friend.

"Does Alice know you want to chew her rug?" you ask, admiring your sister's skill with a pencil. You suddenly realize that you are getting off on a picture of your sister naked with her sitting on the bed beside you.

"You're such an asshole," she says, holding out her hand to take her book back.

You flip the page, wondering what else she has hidden away in her dirty diary. "Hey!", she says indignantly. She tries to grab the book away from you, but you push her back and lean away from her, keeping the book in your possession.

The second picture is of Vicky on her hands and knees, sandwiched between two girls with large, strap-on dildos. She has one dildo in her mouth, and another buried deep in her pussy. One of the girls, the one getting her from behind, is Alice. The second girl is another one of her friends, Georgina. Vicky is looking up at Georgina with a worried, placating expression as she swallows her latex cock.

"Whoa-ho-ho!" your chortle. "My little sister is a dyke!"

Vicky snatches the book from your hands before you have a chance to turn another page. "So what's your big secret, loser-boy?" she asks, obviously miffed.

Your perusal of pictures of your sister naked, combined with the wrestling and the intimacy of the situation seem to have propelled you into a state of intense horniness. You no longer care that the girl sitting across from you is your sister; you only care about the fact that she is so fucking sexy.

"I want you to kiss me," you say, before you even realize what you are saying.

She leans forward and grabs you by the back of the neck, pulling your lips toward hers. Passionately, she wraps her lips around yours and kisses you like a long-lost lover. You wrap your arms around her and press her against you, savoring the sensation of her breasts against your chest. She forces her tongue in your mouth and you stroke it clumsily with your own. Suddenly, she pulls away, turning her head and wiping her mouth with her hand. She appears to be horrified and at a loss for words.

"I'm...I'm sorry," she says. "I don't know...I don't understand...is that why you came in here?" She gives you a hurt, violated look, combined with a look of guilt and fear.

You look away, suddenly ashamed of your actions. You nod your head in repentance. "I wanted to kiss you," you say simply. "I'm twenty-three, and I've never kissed a girl. I wanted to know what it was like."

She stares at you like you are an alien, but says nothing. You half-expected her to hit you, or run out of the room, but she's obviously confused. You asked her to kiss you, true. But she did it of her own free will. At least, as far as she knows. You decide to play on it, and try to moderate her revulsion by forcing her to share it with you.

"You kissed me," you say. "You didn't have to."

"You-you made me do it," she says, her eyes darting back and forth, as if she were trying to find an excuse floating in the air in front of her. "You said you'd tell if I didn't."

That's not what happened, you think, alarmed. She's trying to justify her actions by fabricating a story. You didn't expect this at all.

"No, I didn't," you say quickly, trying to regain control of the situation. "I said I wouldn't tell anyone about your pictures, and you said you wouldn't tell anyone about my secret. I told you my secret, but you acted on it. We both did."

She shook her head, trying to banish your words. "No--I didn't...I don't even like boys," she concluded.

"You just think you don't, because you're lonely. That's why you're fantasizing about your friends," I said slyly. "We can help each other, help each other not to be lonely. No one has to know. It can be just between us, just our little secret, until we meet the right people. Then we can forget this ever happened. Don't you want that?"

She shook her head again, but seemed to be confused, uncertain now of her own feelings and desires. "Look, we'll talk about this later, ok?" you say soothingly. "Supper will be ready soon. We should go before mom starts to wonder what we're up to."

She nods her head at this, but her eyes are staring into the void, as if she were replaying her incestuous kiss over and over again in her mind. "Don't worry about it," you say, genuinely concerned about her mental state. At your words, her face loses its fixed expression and relaxes. She smiles a little, but looks like she's about to cry.

"I guess I just got caught up in it," she says ambiguously. You hold out your hand to her and help her to her feet. You turn to leave, but suddenly she hugs you from behind. "I'm sorry I called you an asshole," she says, pressing her head against your back. "Let's just not tell anyone about today, ok?"

You turn around in her arms and hug her back, resting your chin on her stubbly head. She rests her hands against your chest. "Ok," you say. "I promise I won't tell anyone. We'll talk about this later."

She nods. You kiss her on the head and you leave the room, heading toward the kitchen.